


That Crazy Indian

by RAW_SYNTH3TICA



Category: The Lone Ranger (2013)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Male Slash, Native American Character, Pre-Slash, Slash if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 19:52:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RAW_SYNTH3TICA/pseuds/RAW_SYNTH3TICA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tonto does some things that John will never understand, some more than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Crazy Indian

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Этот чокнутый индеец](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003930) by [Herber_baby17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herber_baby17/pseuds/Herber_baby17)



> ALL IS FICTIONAL & NOT MINE  
> enjoy~!

The mesas ran red as the sun cast down the last rays of light to the west, falling behind ancient rain-washed canyons and sandstone ravines reaching as they held up the ceilings of heaven upon their stone pillars. Tonto’s arms extended to the very skies where crystal-white and multihued stars emerged from the covers of day, his fingers seeming as if to touch each icy droplet frozen in the dark still seas rippling with falling stars and nature’s nocturnal children. High above into the sage-scented skies came moths sprinkling their silver ashes, bats chirping their language, pollen passing upon tree to tree as the wind swept up the sands around Tonto’s folded legs, and mosquitoes the size of a man’s fist being slapped away by John. 

“Why couldn’t we have ourselves a night at Red’s or a proper place of rooming?” John at last pouted to his companion whom only proceeded to murmur under his breath of protection chants and gesturing the motions of touching the stars. 

“Not much sleep at Red’s,” his voice came as one beats two stones together, his language less hindering than one might think of a Native who appeared no less educated than a slaughter lamb, “Too many distractions.” 

“We should forget about this business of masks and ‘Spirit-Walkers’ and Mosquitoes,” John complained a little as he untied the leather band from his face and took off his sweat-rimmed hat, he loosened a button on his shirt to itch at a rash on his neck where his collar chafed. 

“They do only what they do to survive,” Tonto reached up to his riding partner with both pairs of blue eyes following his hand’s motion until both eyes were crossed and Tonto picked a mosquito off the man’s forehead, “Wouldn’t you, Kee-Mo-Sabe?” 

The question was a little hard to answer, but more than offensive to not answer for what seemed as if he were defending his entire half of humanity which called themselves ‘Civilized’ and his ‘Savage’, John swallowed his tight jaws and decided to think before giving a reply. 

“My people don’t need much, Kee-Mo-Sabe. Beautiful land is good enough,” Tonto alas lowered his arms and rifled through a saddle bag, throwing things like a shoe over his shoulder, a brassier over the other, he found a shiny jar and tossed it after opening it’s contents of a set of wooden teeth, he continued to speak after setting aside one or two items, “Hunt, water, skies - all good enough for us.” 

John shifted to sit against a dead juniper tree and felt just a little sorry for this man with a crow nesting on his head and face painted the way a drunk cancan dancer would, Tonto took a basin from behind the tree and filled it partway with water from their shared canteen, he then pointed with his chin to the saddlebag, “All is good when you don’t ask for White Man’s junk.” 

“Did this come from Red’s?” John took the saddlebag in hand, shaking out things like lacey pantaloons, jars of white powder and rouge, a trashy can of snuff and bullets, Tonto only ‘Hmm!’-ed and rubbed his face with a wet flowery lady’s kerchief and shrugged, “Why did you take it when I could’ve bought it? This is very, very bad, Tonto.” 

“Kee-Mo-Sabe didn’t ask,” Tonto shook his head and dried off with an embroidered corset, he then pulled the article back in wonder before holding up the piece to the fire in order to make out the threading, he huffed, “Makes a nice bundle for wood.” 

John snatched the corset away and hissed, “It’s for women! Not that the long hair of yours’ can fool me!” 

“Can’t fit you still,” Tonto took a comb and began untangling the knots from the weeks of busy riding and the seemingly days before he had seen a proper bath. 

John lost the words he had been saving for the long haul to outwit his unlikely partner, but they disappeared the second he saw his tracker giving such a look of amusement and something bordering seriousness. But not for the lack of humor, because if things were not so hectic or tense, John would have found himself laughing at the simple and well-put phrases Tonto answered his long-running prattling with. The paint did very much to hide more than Tonto’s expressions, it hid the White-Man’s ideal imagination of the ‘Nobel Savage’s’ handsomeness. 

“You should really stop stealing from women, Tonto. It isn’t very civil to take a lady’s things,” John looked far off to where the wild hares hopped about spackled in white and streaked red while two scampered along with the brassier looped over their heads. 

“Gave them help and fun for fair trade,” Tonto explained, but was unable to see John’s face as they always used to talk, he yawned as the hair gave way to long black rivers from his crown, he wriggled his nose after sprinkling seeds for his crow, “Could have asked nicely.” 

John leaned forward and pressed his stiff lips to his companion’s, his eyes tightly shut and nose scrunched, he pulled back long enough to open his eyes and see Tonto holding the white horse’s muzzle in place of his own, he pointed up at the crow, “Bird made me do it.”

**Author's Note:**

> sorry that this chapter was so short, I was dividing my attention between an Expendables movie playing on my laptop & Spartacus playing on the television.


End file.
